Out the Window

Another tale well calculated to keep you in. We take you to the 21st floor of a Metropolitan Office building and out the window by William N. Robeson. Commissioner Waltzek got up from his desk. Behind him was an open window. In front of him, quite close to him were two hard-eyed men.

Granite, small, shifty, quick in his movements. Bruzy, huge, slow, somewhat stupid. Granite, the brains. Bruzy, the muscle. Commissioner Wartchke based them. Defied them. Is back to a window, 21 floors above the street. No. What did you say, Commissioner?

I said no. No more graft. No more civic corruption. No more pigs at the public trough. You sound like one of your campaign speeches. Only this time I mean it. I mean it, how come, Commissioner?

Let's just say I can't stand the face I have to shave every morning. You could cut its throat. I thought of that, but I guess I haven't the guts. We have, Commissioner. We've got plenty of guts.

We put you in this job, Wall Check. We expect you to do your duty by us and the party. If you don't feel like it anymore, that's okay. You can get out the window. You can't frighten me. I wouldn't think of it.

Wall Check. I'm not a very emotional person, neither is Bruzy. We're practical, very practical. There won't be a sign of us left here. The commissioner fell from the window of his office on the 21st floor.

The papers will say, ill health, worry over threatened scandals in his administration, and there will be scandals, commissioner. We'll see to that. Your reputation will outlive you and it will be difficult for your wife to live with it.